The damp stone walls of Lirael's cell seemed to edge inward with every shallow breath she took. Moisture gathered in the mortar and trickled down like threads of glass, catching the lamp-glow before vanishing into the straw beneath her feet. Somewhere beyond the door hinges groaned, protesting the weight of patrolling guards; a second later came the rustle of silk skirts scurrying out of the way, then a hissed order silenced by distance. The palace never truly slept—its heartbeat throbbed through the stones and pressed against her ribs.